


Through the years we all will stay together

by serenbach



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Community: lewis_challenge, Family, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years of Christmases between Lewis and Hathaway, and how things change.</p><p>Secret Santa for Riverlight. Warnings for mild case-related angst and violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the years we all will stay together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riverlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverlight/gifts).



**Year One**

The week before Christmas had been a quiet one, and by lunchtime on Christmas Eve, they had tied up all the current loose ends and finished all their reports. Innocent sent them on their way with a “Merry Christmas” and a warning to stay out of trouble, at least until the day after Boxing Day, when they were both due back in.

James had expected that Lewis would be eager to be on his way; he was spending Christmas with Lyn and had made no secret of how much he was looking forward to it. However, he paused on the steps of the station and turned to James with a smile.

“Fancy a pint, sergeant?”

They’d already exchanged gifts that morning (both conspicuously bottle-shaped) so he was a little surprised at the invitation, but James answered without words, falling into step behind him as they headed to find a reasonably quiet pub. When they eventually found one, Lewis settled into a corner table, and James wove his way to the bar, dodging past a noisy group of men in truly hideous Christmas jumpers as he did. 

He bought Lewis a half, since he was driving later, and sat with his own pint, listening in amusement as Lewis related the horror-story of shopping in a department store on a Saturday, trying to find a gift for his grown-up daughter and the boyfriend he had only met once before. 

“What about you?” Lewis asked eventually, as he neared the end of his drink. “Any special plans?”

“No, not really, sir. Just Mass in the morning,” he replied. He and the rest of the band would be playing, but after that he had nothing more planned for Christmas than a new book and a rather nice bottle of wine. 

“Not seeing your family?” The tone was casual, the quick glance over the edge of the glass anything but. 

James shook his head, draining the last of his pint. “No, I’m not.”

Lewis only nodded once and didn’t ask the obvious questions. James appreciated that about him. 

They chatted a little more, but Lewis was soon glancing at his watch, clearly thinking about traffic. James stood with a small smile, letting him know that he was ready to go. 

Lewis had picked him up that morning, so despite James’ protests, dropped him back at his flat. James twisted himself out of the car, then leaned back in. “Merry Christmas, sir.” He couldn’t help smiling a little; it had meant a lot to him that his Inspector had delayed seeing his family to have a drink with him.

Lewis smiled back at him. “Merry Christmas, Hathaway.”

**Year Two**

Hathaway’s deliberately blank face as he waited for him outside the victim’s house told Robbie everything he needed to know. A bad one, then.

The uniform and SOCO that he passed milling around outside didn’t exactly look happy either, but then a new murder investigation starting at six o’clock in the evening on Christmas Eve wasn’t exactly anyone’s idea of a good time. 

“The victim’s name is Victoria Gregory,” Hathaway said as he approached, pushing himself off the wall where he’d been slouched, already on his phone. “She was thirty-two and lived alone.”

“Do we know the cause of death?” Robbie asked, following James through the house and into the living room.

“Oh yes,” Laura said, looking up at him from where she was crouched over the body. “It’s pretty clear.”

The woman was lying on the floor at an unnatural angle, a length of green tinsel wrapped tightly around her neck. Robbie stared at her for a long moment, feeling unaccountably weary. Every time he thought he couldn’t possibly be shocked any more, something always came along and managed it. 

“Cause of death is strangulation, in case you didn’t guess,” Laura continued. “Though there are some marks on her neck that are not consistent with that.” 

He glanced around the room, seeing clear signs of a struggle. The Christmas tree had been knocked over, the elaborately wrapped presents trampled, and a glass of red wine had been smashed on the hearth. 

“So, time of death?” he asked Laura.

“Yesterday evening,” she replied, standing up and stretching a little. “Somewhere between six and ten o’clock, I’d say.”

Robbie looked around again. “There’s another glass of wine on the table. Someone else was here.”

“Or she was expecting someone to arrive,” Hathaway chimed in.

“Right. Any sign of a forced entry?” At the various head-shakes, he continued. “So she let whoever it was in and they what - argued and strangled her with the tinsel?” 

Laura shrugged a little. “Looks that way. Her fingernails are broken; it looks like she tried to defend herself.”

“Where did they get the tinsel from?” Hathaway asked. Robbie looked over at him enquiringly. “Her tree is fibre optic, the rest of her decorations are blue and silver, and I don’t see any tinsel anywhere, either.”

“So the murderer brought the tinsel with them,” Robbie sighed. “Right. Who found the body?”

“One of her colleagues,” Hathaway answered. “He came round to check why she wasn’t at work.”

“Right, let’s talk to him now, then. Has her family been informed?”

“Her sister is on her way from Birmingham,” Hathaway replied. 

In the end, the case proved to be relatively easy to solve. The colleague seemed to think she had been seeing someone, and had got the impression that the man was married. A neighbour had noticed a car parked outside the previous night, and SOCO found wrapping paper and a gift tag in the wastepaper bin with _To Vicki, love always, Alan_ written on it. 

It was still Christmas morning, however, before they had traced the car to a Holly Black, married to an Alan Black. She burst into tears as soon as she opened the door to them and saw their warrant cards.

“Please,” she whispered, “don’t arrest me in front of my children.”

Later, in the interview room, she described heading out to do some frantic last minute shopping, only to find a jewellery receipt for a necklace and engraving in her husband’s wallet when she went to take his credit card. She bought all her shopping, and on the way home, stopped off at Victoria’s house (“I knew about her, I always know about them, but this time it was different. He never usually buys them anything.”), asked to come in and talk, and in the resulting argument, tore the necklace from her neck and replaced it with a length of tinsel from her carrier bag, which she pulled tighter and tighter, until -

“I was going to confess,” Holly sobbed. “I was. I just wanted one more Christmas as a family, first.”

Later, when the reports had all been filed, he and Hathaway headed out, Hathaway immediately lighting a cigarette and inhaling like his life depended on it. Robbie knew how he felt. He didn’t think he would get either Victoria’s sister out of his head, weeping over her sister’s body on Christmas morning, or Holly’s children, staring at them with scared faces as he and Hathaway took their mother away when they should have been opening presents together. 

Normally, after a case like this, they’d head out for a pint or a take-away together, something to try and numb the memories, get their heads around what had happened. But he should have been at Lyn’s hours ago. 

“I should head off now,” Robbie said hesitantly. “If I want to be at Lyn’s in time for supper.”

“Of course, sir,” Hathaway said. “Give her my best, won’t you?”

“I will.” Robbie watched Hathaway walk towards his car, hands in his pockets and shoulders more slumped than usual. He wondered if his sergeant was going to be spending the rest of the day alone. He hoped not, no one should be alone after a day like the one they’d just had. But Hathaway was never really forthcoming with those sort of details, and Robbie didn’t want to pry, not unless he had to. 

“Hathaway,” Robbie called. He turned his head, but Robbie somehow couldn’t quite make himself say the words ’Merry Christmas,’ when so far the day had been everything but. 

Hathaway however, seemed to understand, and waved a hand in both acknowledgment and farewell. 

**Year Three.**

Christmas was hard for her dad, Lyn knew. It was hard for her too, but she remembered how much her mum had loved Christmas and sometimes it felt like she was right there with her, especially when Lyn would unpack the decorations that they’d made or bought together. 

Dad though, sometimes dad still went all quiet and sad and far-away at Christmas. He’d got a week’s leave over Christmas this year, and while most of the time he’d seemed happy to be spending time with her, Lyn had still noticed the times when her dad withdraw into himself.

So when, on Christmas morning, her dad checked a message on his phone and genuinely grinned, she couldn’t help but feel curious. 

“Who was that, dad?” she asked, handing him a cup of tea.

“Hathaway,” he replied. “He’s in Scotland for one of his band-mate’s wedding, and has got himself snowed in. He sent me a picture.”

He handed Lyn his phone and she looked at the picture of the snow-covered mountains that could have been taken straight from the front of a Christmas card. Underneath the picture was the simple message _Merry Christmas._

“I’m a bit jealous,” Lyn admitted. “We never get snow like that here.”

“Well,” dad replied. “I’ve told him he’s expected back at work on Monday, even if he has to walk!” But he was still smiling, so Lyn assumed he wasn’t being too serious. 

His phone went again, and dad snorted and showed her the message. _Understood. Will see if they sell snow-shoes at the hotel gift shop._ Lyn rolled her eyes at her dad, who was still grinning. 

She didn’t know much about her dad’s sergeant, really, for all her dad talked about him quite a lot. She knew he was brainy (though dad called him a smart-arse) and that he’d almost been a priest and was in a weird-sounding band, and also that he sometimes played squash and went out for drinks with dad after work, and that was about it.

But if he could make her dad smile like that, Lyn thought that she didn’t really need to know anything else about him.

“Maybe I can meet him the next time I’m in Oxford?” Lyn asked, kissing her dad on the cheek and heading into the kitchen to put the turkey in the oven (dad’s offer of help having been firmly declined. He was on holiday, after all. And a terrible cook.).

“I’d like that, pet,” he called after her. She could still hear the smile in his voice.

**Year Four**

They’d spent most of Christmas Eve trying to arrest yet another criminal who didn’t seem to understand that Christmas was a time of goodwill. James was relieved when he was finally in custody, though he would have been more relieved if he’d managed to make an arrest without having his arm slashed open by a knife neither of them had expected the suspect to be carrying. 

It was deep enough to require stitches and painkillers, but fortunately not deep enough to require staying in hospital overnight. Lewis sat with him, distracting him from the discomfort as they waited for a harassed-looking young doctor to stitch him up. 

Lewis drove him home as well, which he was grateful for as his arm was throbbing in earnest, even after taking the painkillers. They stopped for an Indian, but James was starting to feel a little queasy, though whether from the pain, the medication or simple exhaustion he couldn’t say. Lewis flicked the kettle on and set out plates while James sank down onto his settee with a sigh of pure relief. 

Lewis looked around his flat with a bit of puzzlement. “You don’t have a Christmas tree up,” he observed. “Where is Father Christmas going to put all your presents?”

“You presume I’ve been good enough this year to deserve any,” James replied, enjoying the eye-roll that Lewis sent him. He had put up the few cards he’d received this year, from Lewis himself (and if it was slightly more prominently displayed than the others, well, no-one but James would ever notice), Dr. Hobson, a few other coppers and his friends from the band. His small pile of gifts from the same people was piled haphazardly on his coffee table.

Lewis handed him his tea without any commentary about the pretentiousness of tea-leaves compared to tea-bags. James decided that it must be an indication that he looked about wretched as he felt. Lewis tucked into his dinner while James just stared at his, unable to muster up even a hint of appetite. 

It was barely nine o’clock and he was already yawning, despite his best efforts to concentrate on what Lewis was saying. By his fifth yawn and with most of his tea and his dinner untouched, Lewis sent him off to bed. He was so tired and achy that he forgot to comment on that, or to wish him happy Christmas.

James woke from his too-deep sleep at just gone eleven, too late for Mass, even if he’d felt up to going. His arm was still aching. He staggered into the bathroom, and then into his living room in search of his painkillers, all without registering the sound of the kettle.

He blinked at the sight of Robbie Lewis in his kitchen on Christmas morning, setting out two mugs for tea.

“Merry Christmas, sergeant,” Lewis said with a smile.

“And to you, sir,” he replied automatically, rubbing his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at Lyn’s…?” he asked hesitantly, not wanting Lewis to feel unwelcome (it was completely the opposite) but because James was totally unsure of why he was there. 

“I’m not going to Lyn’s until Boxing Day, remember?” Lewis said, looking concerned. “She’s with Tim’s family this year.”

“Oh. Of course.” Lewis had told him that, several times before, but the painkillers and too much sleep had left him groggy and unfocused. 

Lewis stepped forwards with a frown and laid a hand on his forehead (and James had to really concentrate in order not to close his eyes). “You were pretty out of it last night so I borrowed your spare key, just in case. When you didn’t answer your phone this morning, I thought I would pop round.”

Realising that Lewis had been worried about him made James feel like he‘d just stepped into a patch of sunshine. “I’m fine, sir,” he assured him. “I was just a little tired.”

“Hmm,” Lewis said, quickly scanning him. “I can see that.” James was suddenly aware that his hair was probably standing on end and that he was wearing pyjama bottoms with holes in, and a university t-shirt so worn and thin he should have thrown it away years ago. He flushed a little, and Lewis smiled. “It’s been a busy week.”

James nodded, and surprised himself with a yawn. Surely he’d slept enough already? 

“Well,” Lewis said, suddenly looking awkward. “I should probably be off.”

“Oh,” James said, aware that he sounded disappointed. “Well-”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Lewis explained, at the same moment. 

“You’re not,” James replied, perhaps too quickly. “I could make tea?”

“I’ll make the tea,” Lewis said, sounding as relived as James felt. “You go and sit down.”

James flopped down onto the settee, reaching with one hand for the bottle of painkillers, and then the remote, turning the channel to something light and festive. Lewis came and sat next to him, placing a cup of tea and a plate of toast in front of him. “For the painkillers,” he explained. 

They flitted between programs, chatting easily, and when it came to lunchtime and James realised he had forgotten to defrost anything even remotely Christmassy, Lewis was happy enough to reheat the Indian take-away from the previous night. James found that he was hungry for it, this time. 

Lewis didn’t leave until the evening (after the Doctor Who Christmas special; he’d stared at the screen with a focus James had only ever before seen him direct at suspects or the F.A cup final) and he left with an smile, a friendly squeeze of James’ good arm, and a reminder to take his painkillers before he went to bed.

“Yes sir,” James agreed solemnly, not quite able to stop himself from smirking a little. “Say Happy Christmas to Lyn for me.”

“I’ll pass it on tomorrow,” Lewis promised, and then after a moment, wondered aloud, “Why do they call it Boxing Day, anyway?”

“Because it was the day churches opened their alms boxes and gave the contents to the poor,” James replied, both expecting and cherishing Lewis’ response. 

He rolled his eyes and smiled. “Thank you, clever-clogs. And take care of that arm!”

When James closed the door behind him, he was smiling. It had been an untraditional and informal day (he’d never actually got round to changing out of his pyjamas), but it was still the best Christmas he’d had in years. 

Year Five

“I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with Christmas dinner this year,” Robbie admitted to James one evening as they’d stopped off for a pint on their way home. He’d invited Lyn and her family down to Oxford, only afterwards realising he hadn’t cooked anything complicated in years. “I hadn’t thought it would be so complicated - it should just be a big roast, but there is all the extra stuff to go with it. Does anyone even eat parsnips after Christmas day?”

“You could try roasting them in honey and sesame seeds,” James suggested, smiling a little at him. “That should make them actually edible. Or you could do something else. Beef maybe, or lamb? There’s no law that states you have to cook turkey on Christmas day.”

“It’s my granddaughter’s first Christmas. I want to do a traditional dinner,” Robbie replied. “Honey and sesame seeds? I didn’t know you cooked.” Even after working with him for so long, there was so much about his sergeant he still didn’t know. 

“Just a little,” James answered, which could mean anything from living off beans-on-toast to being a gourmet chef, though the latter was probably more obvious, knowing James. “It’s a bit of a hassle just for one.”

Robbie frowned thoughtfully at him. He didn’t like the thought of James being alone over Christmas, especially after spending the previous one with him. He’d been trying to find a way to ask him over for dinner, but, well, James was an awkward sod and Robbie wasn’t sure how he would take the invitation.

But, still. No time like the present. “Do you have any plans?” When James, as expected, shook his head, he continued, “do you want to come over for dinner?” Robbie really wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about asking. After all, they ate together all the time.

James hesitated. “That’s very kind of you, sir. But you should spend Christmas with your family.”

“That’s why I’m asking you, you daft sod!” Robbie couldn’t help exclaiming in exasperation.

James’ eyes widened, and he flushed a little. “Oh. Well… I’d love to. Thank you.” And then he smiled at him, a genuine sweet smile, rather than his usual smirk.

He didn’t see this expression often on James, and he wasn’t exactly sure how it made him feel, happy and confused by it all at once, but he did like knowing that he was the one who caused it. 

“And I’d be happy to help you cook,” James added.

Robbie could admit to some private relief at that. “Probably for the best, lad, since you’ll be eating it!” 

James came over on Christmas morning, a little before ten o’clock. He’d already helped Robbie with the shopping, and helped him prep the night before. He’d also given him a list of suggestions of things Robbie should have done before he arrived. 

Lyn answered the door, as she had been looking forward to meeting him ever since Robbie had mentioned he was coming. In no time at all, she’d taken his coat, poured him a drink and set her daughter in his lap. James, for his part, looked a lot less uncomfortable than Robbie had expected, which was a good thing, since Lyn was as exuberant as James was reserved. 

Eventually, though, Robbie reached the limits of his cooking skills and had to summon him into the kitchen. “Christmas is in your hands,” he announced gravely.

“Literally or figuratively?” James asked, laughing.

“Both!” Robbie replied, tossing him a pair of oven gloves.

Between them, they managed to produce a meal that was more then passable. The turkey was cooked perfectly, with bacon and fancy stuffing, the (three kinds!) of potatoes looked delicious, and all of the veg, even the parsnips, looked tasty. 

“Oh wow,” Lyn exclaimed with wide eyes when she saw it. “How did you manage all this?”

“It was mostly James,” Robbie admitted, smiling at him as he shrugged a little self-consciously under Lyn’s regard.

“You should come round more often,” Lyn gushed, helping them set out all the serving spoons. 

“He knows he’s always welcome,” Robbie replied lightly, but he directed the comment over Lyn’s head, to James, who smiled _that_ slow smile again and Robbie felt the impact of it all the way down into his stomach.

He hadn’t been exaggerating, either, Robbie thought, as they all took their places around the table. James was family, after all. He belonged with them. 

**Year Six**

It wasn’t really all that different from last year, Lyn thought. Dad still needed James to rescue him in the kitchen, they still mocked and teased each other over dozens of little things, and they washed-up and put away the dishes as if it was some sort of synchronised Olympic sport.

And if later that night, once they’d all watched Doctor Who and James had been coaxed and cajoled into playing carols, once she’d put her daughter to bed and they’d all made a decent dent in the wine and the cheese tray, she spied on her dad and James in the kitchen, kissing while they waited for the kettle to boil, well, it didn’t really feel strange at all.

It had been a bit of a surprise (and a bit not a surprise at all) when her dad had nervously announced to her earlier in the year that he and James had, in his words, “taken up together.” But then, she’d seen the way James had looked at him last Christmas, and the easy, obvious affection her dad had for him. She hadn’t hesitated to give them her blessing.

He’d made her dad smile again. That was all she had ever needed to know.


End file.
